


Friendly Rivalry

by canadianhannah



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: Arguing, Asshole Bert McCracken, Asshole Frank Iero, Asshole Gerard Way, Booty Calls, Crushes, Everyone Is An Asshole, F/M, Flirting, Frerard, Gerbert - Freeform, Implied Masturbation, Implied Sexual Content, Light-Hearted, NSFW Art, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Rivalry, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, The Used/MCR Tour, Unrequited Crush, post reunion, sending nudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadianhannah/pseuds/canadianhannah
Summary: We could always get The Used to open,” Mikey had joked, not looking up from his notebook. Gerard groaned, pausing to take a sip of coffee. Frank knew he was considering it when the man held the drink in his mouth a little too long, thick eyebrows furrowing. By the time he’d swallowed, he’d made up his mind, hand rubbing against his short beard.“Y’know Mikes, that’s not… a bad idea,”***Bringing the band fronted by your ex-lover on tour with you is, in theory, a bad idea - for anyone but Gerard Way. Always playing in the interests of dramatics, Gerard soon finds himself stuck between the ex he once could have loved, and the one who still wishes he would. When both of them bend over backwards (and forwards) to get his attention, Gerard realises that, maybe, there's more fun to be had in reunions than he thought.
Relationships: Bert McCracken/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Friendly Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poisndyouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisndyouth/gifts).



> For Charlie, who always follows good ideas with "are you taking commissions?"

It had started out as a sort of joke. The band –  _ Frank would never get used to saying that again. My band. We. Us –  _ had been sitting in Gerard’s office in his LA home, Gerard on a chair, the other three on cushions they’d dragged in from the living room. Each had a notebook in his hand, scrawling ideas, concepts, trying to figure out what was going to happen next. There was no big plan – they couldn’t afford for there to be. In their absence, it seemed, their fanbase had become so content-starved that they’d gained the ability to see through any glamour the band tried to hide behind. Having firm plans meant having to change them when they were spilled over the internet, courtesy of some 17 year old in Ottawa. 

“We could always get The Used to open,” Mikey had joked, not looking up from his notebook. Gerard groaned, pausing to take a sip of coffee. Frank knew he was considering it when the man held the drink in his mouth a little too long, thick eyebrows furrowing. By the time he’d swallowed, he’d made up his mind, hand rubbing against his short beard. 

“Y’know Mikes, that’s not… a bad idea,” he hummed, “they wouldn’t see it coming.” 

“Actually, they would. Bert’s been talking shit for weeks,” Ray interjected, smiling a little as he spoke. Watching The Used’s frontman spitting their name through his teeth every night had kept the band amused, at least, but didn’t actually bother them. Frank, for one, was happy he was doing it. After touring together a few years previously, Frank and Bert had a sort of kinship; that is, neither of them could stand Gerard. 

It seemed funny to Frank now, watching the older man as he leaned against his desk, talking with his hands as that inspired light in his eyes grew. He didn’t look the same as before – weightier for sure, now with messy brown hair and an unkept beard, ‘I-bought-it-like-that’ dishevelled clothes fitted loosely to his frame. Had he looked this way when Frank first met him in that bar all those years ago, Frank probably wouldn’t have offered the backdoor blowjob he’d given him, only an hour or two after being introduced. Yet there was something that, even now, radiated from him, something so  _ unusual _ that he couldn’t help but feel the draw. Bert had described it perfectly, on their 8 th consecutive Gerard bitching session: “ _ he just exists, and he exists so poignantly that you just… need him. I need him, you know?”  _ _  
_ That tour had, in many ways, been a very healing experience for the pair of them – if healing can be defined as two men talking shit about the man they’re both still in love with, and having the pot gently stirred by the only person present who  _ didn’t  _ seem to be under his spell, despite having also slept with him. 

“I don’t have a problem with it. With Bert,” Frank said, not really sure if the words fit into the conversation or not. Gerard nodded sagely, his eyes momentarily meeting Frank’s. He held his gaze for a moment, looking at him as if trying to figure something out, before nodding decisively. 

“Alright. I don’t have his number, obviously-“ the way Gerard laughed the phrase out with a tinge of mockery made Frank tense a little. It wasn’t Bert’s fault. None of this was. Gerard shrugged, scribbling a note onto his own paper, “but I guess we can work something out. You’re still friends with him, right, Frankie?” the mocking in his tone didn’t dissipate, and when he glanced at the younger man from under his eyelashes, there was a delighted, amused light swirling within his irises. Frank used the blank page of his notebook as an excuse to break the eye contact, not even bothering to speak; he knew it would only make his voice shake, and it hadn’t been a real question anyway. 

***

The offhand comment had, very quickly, spiralled into the territory of  _ not at all a joke _ , followed by a single phone call between managers, a cancelled tour, and two bands on two different buses coasting across more cities than they could keep track of. 

Gerard was good at being  blasé - Mikey often said that it was his third greatest skill, after drawing and singing; Gerard argued that he was better at writing than he was being nonchalant, but he was yet to prove that point.    
For all Gerard’s skill in perfecting his ‘devil may care’ persona, nothing came close to him being shaken quite like having two of his exes in very, very close proximity to him. He had anticipated Frank, of course; they’d been working on fixing things - Frank tried to not be so callous, so  _ hurt  _ all the time, and Gerard had truly been working on not leading him on. The last three years had been tricky, and often felt like there was a ‘one step forward, two steps back’ sort of dynamic - but they could, at least, stand to be in the same room as each other. Gerard had become a master of ignoring longing glances, and Frank was better at keeping desperate thoughts shoved to the back of his throat, choking on them all day until he could get to his bunk and let them out in gasping sobs, face pressed deep into his pillow.    
Gerard ignored that, too. 

What had taken Gerard entirely by surprise, was Bert. Since the very public breakdown of their friendship (and the significantly less public crumble of their romantic relationship), the pair had spoken maybe three times - none of which went particularly well. Gerard knew Bert was angry, and he supposed he had a right to be; Gerard wasn’t exceptionally good at communicating his feelings, especially when those feelings were drug-addled and confusing. Fifteen years later, he was better, now, at confronting things that were terrifying, but that hardly helped him now.    
Given the circumstances, he’d expected Bert to be cold, avoidant, even aggressive to him. He’d talked the whole thing out with his tour manager, who had assured him that nobody would let things get out of hand.    
When they’d discussed that, ‘out of hand’ had meant Bert trying to swing for him as soon as he laid eyes on him. It had  _ not  _ covered Bert walking straight out of his bus and towards Gerard, grabbing his shoulder, and pulling him in for a rough kiss. The older man had been dumbfounded - but not too much so as to not tentatively kiss back, his hand somehow finding Bert’s hip, fingers fitting in the jut of his hip bone just as easily as they always had. The motion seemed so normal, so absolutely  _ right _ that Gerard hadn’t really thought of what reality was outside of their mouths crushed together. When Bert pulled back, though, a manic grin stretched across his face, Gerard felt the blood rush from his cheeks. He turned his head swiftly to look at Frank, who was pointedly looking away, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at something on the ground. 

***

That first encounter had set the tone for the rest of the tour; Bert seemed absolutely determined to give Gerard a seven month long  _ headache _ . In the time since they’d last seen each other, Gerard had forgotten how easily Bert made his presence known when he wanted it to be - he had a knack for being absolutely everywhere at all times, and drawing Gerard’s attention to him whether he liked it or not.    
As it happened - and he would never admit it aloud - Gerard  _ did  _ like it. Bert having a crush on him back in the day had been fun, and it was fun now that the frontman was, at the very least, teasing him for sport. 

***

“Hey, Gee?” Bert hummed, swinging his legs as he sat perched on the table, right next to the papers Gerard was trying to write on. Gerard’s lips twitched upwards with the ghost of a smile, but he didn’t glance up. 

“Mmmhmm?” he hummed in response, and only after he was certain Bert wasn’t going to shut up unless he paid him some attention. Bert chuckled, shimmying a little closer - and crumpling Gerard’s papers as he did. Gerard sighed, looking up, jaw set in annoyance - though his eyes glimmered with a playfulness so familiar to Bert, he could have described it blindfolded. 

“Wanna help me with my vocal warmups?” 

The question seemed innocent enough to anyone listening in - but Gerard’s cheeks flushed red, the pencil he’d been holding clattering atop the table. He shifted, suddenly self-conscious as he tucked his hair behind his ear. 

“Ah - I dunno if you remember, but you used to -” 

“I remember,” Bert cut him off, smiling coolly. Bert had said once that nothing was better for preparing the vocal chords before a show than loud, aggressive fucking, swallowed down with a messy blowjob. Back in the 2000s, Gerard had taken this as gospel, and had often stumbled onstage with a sore throat and a raspy voice as a result - though he never regretted it, nor did he ever refuse him.    
This time, though, Bert had him squirming, an uncomfortable and unfortunate pulse beginning to run up his inner thighs as his mind flashed through countless images of hands in hair, open mouthed kisses, sweat clinging to their bodies, each rough movement punctuated by the soft protest of springs beneath them from where they’d broken Bert’s bunk doing the same thing they always did. 

If Gerard and Frank really did have the connection that the latter claimed they did, it was evidenced by Frank walking into the room right as the silence stretched on long enough to seem promising to Bert. Gerard could have moaned with relief, but shot his friend a welcoming grin instead. 

“Frankie!” he said, far too enthusiastically. Bert snorted, nudging Gerard’s thigh with his foot, but otherwise not commenting. Frank smiled - albeit confusedly - and walked in a beeline to the coffee machine; pointedly not speaking to Bert as he did. 

Despite their previously established friendship, Frank and Bert had hardly spoken to each other the entire tour thus far. Any words that had been exchanged had been tinged with either sarcasm or abrupt rudeness - a trend which Frank seemed intent on continuing.

“Hey Bert, you have your own bus, right?” Frank muttered, not turning around as he spoke. The irritation was so clear in his tone that Gerard didn’t even need to see his face to know the hard line his lips were set in. Bert answered with a shrug and a dismissive hum. 

“Yeah. But this one’s more fun.” He shot a wink at Gerard as he spoke - Gerard swallowed hard so as not to offer him something indecent on the spot. Frank turned around, eyes falling first on Bert, and then Gerard. He recognised the faint blush on Gerard’s cheeks, the way his soft thighs were pressed together, his wedding-ring adorned hand grasping at his own thigh. 

“So are you guys fucking?” Frank asked blandly, taking a sip of his coffee. Bert laughed, rising lithely to his feet. 

“He wishes,” he smirked, “but no. Not currently. Why, Frankie, you wanna get underneath him?” 

“Maybe,” Frank replied curtly. Gerard’s eyes widened, just about managing to swallow the gasp that threatened his lips. He did, however, manage to stutter out a shaky “what?” 

Frank shrugged, drinking more of his coffee to busy himself. Thus far he’d managed to ensure that Bert was only able to rile him up in private - he was acutely aware that, with one word, he’d begun to unravel the hesitant friendship he and Gerard had managed to reform. He glanced up at his friend, quirking an eyebrow, only setting the cup down when he was certain his voice wouldn’t crack as he spoke. 

“Yeah. Maybe I do. If Bert’s allowed to wanna sleep with you, I guess I am too, right?” he sighed. Resting his back against the counter, one would assume that Frank was absolutely calm - in reality, he was leaning back so he wouldn’t fall to his knees as waves of terror ran through him. Gerard laughed nervously, shaking hand rubbing along his own thigh. 

“N-nobody’s sleeping with me,” he stammered, eyebrows furrowed. Frank had never been particularly assertive, so this was new to him. Frank had, as expected, been following him around all tour, and admittedly, Gerard hadn’t minded - Frank made him laugh, and having someone  _ that  _ infatuated with you was flattering. Not to mention, Frank had only become more attractive since they’d last toured - he was bigger now, arms with rolling muscles pushed out from the tight t-shirts he’d taken to wearing, his abs clearly visible from under said shirt; and even if he’d tried (he hadn’t), Gerard wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes away from his ass. He wondered how it would feel under his hands, how those rough back muscles would look as he moved over him, the way the light would shine on the ink-swirled skin of his neck as he grabbed his hair, tilted his head back - 

Gerard shuddered, glancing down at his own crotch and -  _ oh god,  _ he was in trouble. He’d been too distracted by the two men before him that he hadn’t noticed they’d continued bickering. Bert was standing almost toe-to-toe with Frank, but the latter hadn’t moved from his calm, reclined position. 

“It’s kind of embarrassing that you’ve been using our band to get an audience, Bert,” Frank was saying, tone almost dangerously calm. Bert barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. 

“Just returning the favour. Besides, nothing riles Gerard up like being talked about, hm?” he turned then, shooting Gerard another wink before turning back to Frank, “I had to keep him interested,” 

“Yeah? And how did that go for you? Has he tried to contact you in the last decade?” Frank snorted. There was a palpable silence, just long enough for Gerard’s mouth to go dry, his eyes squeezing shut as a voice in his head chanted “ _ shut up, shut up shut-  _

“Guess he didn’t tell you he booty called me a few years ago, huh?” Bert said casually. Gerard felt like the ground was shaking beneath him, though the bus remained perfectly stationary. The older man breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, but it only made his tongue more dry, his breath rattling in his chest 

“Oh?” Frank asked, turning his eyes on Gerard. The look was uncharacteristic - dark, accusatory, and  _ predatory _ . Gerard felt a shiver run up his spine at the sight, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he spoke. 

“It- shit, I don’t know. It was… like a couple years after the b-breakup,” he mumbled, “and I just… I don’t know. We were in the same city, and I-” he waved a hand in frustration, “I didn’t think.” 

“Gerard you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Frank laughed, but the noise was tight and humourless, a fiery rage burning in his eyes as they flicked between the pair. 

“If it helps Frankie, I said no. Though he did send me some pretty pictures to try and change my mind,” Bert purred, voice dripping with smugness. Frank shrugged, seeming outwardly nonplussed, even as he felt the ground fall away beneath him. 

“That’s...fine. We weren’t talking then and - shit, Gee, I’m not your  _ boyfriend _ .” Frank tried (failed) to not sound hurt as he said it, but the bitterness wound itself around the words anyway, so sharp that Gerard winced as he heard them. Gerard wasn’t even sure why he cared what Frank thought - hadn’t he wanted this? He wanted Frank to be disillusioned by him, to stop wanting him. He wanted friendship - right? There was something in Frank’s eyes, though, that was stirring something within him. He couldn’t deny it - he looked  _ good _ . The angrier he got, the more Gerard was drawn to him. The images were flashing faster in his mind, flitting between memory and fantasy - he was sitting atop Bert, riding him as light, gasping moans were ripped from his throat, then he was pinning Frank against the wall outside a venue, pushing his jeans down, fucking him until the guitarist had deep grazes along his hipbones from brick pressing into soft flesh. The image his mind kept going back to, though, was the same fantasy he’d been having for the last fifteen years. Bert behind him, his fist in his hair, thrusting hard into him. Frank was splayed below him, and Gerard was  _ fucking  _ him, rough and needy, a hand curled around his throat, choking the desperate moans that flowed from his lips, even as Gerard was crying out himself, overwhelmed with the pleasure pulsing through him from both sides.    
The version of Gerard that existed in reality had to pinch his own lips together with his teeth. His pleasure had reached truly uncomfortable levels, his zipper beginning to strain as he sat wordlessly, eyes flicking between his two ex-lovers as they mocked each other. 

“It’s a moot point,” Bert said suddenly, taking a few steps back from Frank. He perched back on the table, turning his head just enough to make direct, intense eye contact with Gerard. For a head-spinning moment, Gerard was  _ certain  _ that Bert could read his mind. That paranoia in place, the images came more quickly, more  _ insistently. _ They weren’t memories anymore, the main characters no longer twenty-somethings with greasy hair and Ben Nye white faces - they were fantasies. It was Gerard, now in his forties, brown beard speckled with grey, his brown hair clutched in Bert’s fist, it was him being forced to his knees while Bert used his mouth with a hand around his throat.    
Bert smirked - a gesture that only confirmed Gerard’s anxieties about his friend’s telepathy. If he  _ could  _ read minds, though, he was insistent on keeping quiet about it. Bert rose to his feet once more - though not without allowing his hand to graze Gerard’s thigh, a fiery pleasure jolting through him as he felt Bert’s touch.   
Bert headed towards the door in silence, not even glancing at Frank as he did. For a joyous moment, Gerard thought he’d just about got out of this unscathed -    
And then Bert turned around. 

“Well, Frankie. If you really want his approval, watching us fight over him made Gerard’s cock real hard - why don’t you get on your knees and choke on him.”    
The words were spat, but they sounded more mocking than bitter. If anything, Bert was  _ delighted  _ by the way the situation had turned out. He said no more, though, and finally exited the bus, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

Frank searched in the following silence for something to say that wasn’t agreeing to take Gerard up on Bert’s offer. Having had it pointed out to him, Frank couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bulge in Gerard’s jeans, and it was making a faint sweat break out over his own forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said eventually, voice weak. He had been half-hoping Frank would use Bert’s words as an excuse to come onto him - though retrospectively, he supposed it was better that he hadn’t. Frank smiled weakly, averting his eyes back down to his half-empty mug. 

“It’s...don’t worry. I’ll see you later,” he mumbled. He started to walk towards the bunks. His willpower fell just short of being able to make it all the way there, though, and he felt his eyes drag up back to Gerard’s crotch as soon as he was stood parallel with him. Realising his error, his eyes darted up to Gerard’s face, only to find that the singer was already gazing at him. Gerard’s cheeks were a faint pink, his lips dry and parted as he heaved deep, panting breaths. His hazel eyes were blown with pure desire as he felt Frank’s eyes locked with his own. Desperate, passionate  _ need  _ rolled over the pair as they stared at each other, both their hearts racing, the air in the room seeming to thicken with pheromones and the longing that twisted in their stomachs. There was a horrifying, tantalising moment where Frank felt his knees tremble, the desire to throw himself between his friend’s thighs almost too overwhelming to ignore.    
Almost. He took a step back, sucking in a sharp breath as he forced a smile to his face. He didn’t bother to speak this time, and Frank was gone before Gerard could even fathom the words he wanted to say. 

***

Both of his aggressors gone, Gerard remained motionless on the sofa for a moment, staring blankly at the wall. They were only a month into their tour, and neither Frank nor Bert seemed to be slowing in their momentum, both hurtling themselves towards him at a bruising pace. Gerard groaned, shoving a hand clumsily into his own pants, legs splaying out as he felt relief wrack through him. A sudden grin splashed across his face as he felt his tension begin to simmer.    
This tour was going to kill him, and he couldn’t fucking wait. 


End file.
